Years ago I read Manon Lescaut, the novel by Abbé Prévost that launched the charmer on her notorious career; it struck me as more of a parody of a certain type of sensibility-infused romance rather than the thing itself (if you've read early Austen up through Northanger Abbey you know how it struck me), which maybe indicates a basic disjunction between my gestalt and that of the novel & its ensuing dramatic adaptations. I have nonetheless heard multiple recordings & heard the opera live in three other productions, including the last run-through at San Francisco Opera of this Vincent Boussard production, which had fine turns by Elllie Dehn & Michael Fabiano as the lovers. So it's an opera I've heard a surprising number of times, given the basic indifference I felt about it. But during this latest revival at the Opera I started to feel, to my great surprise, that it was a much better work than I had ever given it credit for.
As with rivers, stepping into, we never hear the same opera twice, but I doubt that anything I've gone through since my last Manon has made me more simpatico with the tale. And this isn't a case in which the production made all the difference, because as mentioned I've seen this production before. And I liked & continue to like it quite a lot, with its gently applied surrealism, its striking tableau, even its metaphorical balloons (at least they're an apt metaphor, being festive, fragile, & ultimately environmentally toxic). Even when the production verges on silliness (or crosses over, depending on your tolerance), as when Manon floats down from above, Mary Poppins-like, clutching a bunch of balloons, it's a thematically appropriate silliness, capturing the frivolous world of Parisian luxury she's temporarily inhabiting.
So what happened to me this time? I think I have to give credit to conductor Eun Sun Kim & to the two leads, Amina Edris as Manon & Pene Pati as the infatuated Chevalier des Grieux (in the off-stage world, Edris & Pati are married to each other). The extra dimensions all three brought to their roles eased my way towards revelation; from the moment the overture started under Kim's direction, I felt an authority & richness in the music that had never really registered with me before. There is a prejudiced tendency to think of French opera, with a few notable exceptions (Carmen, Pelleas, anything by Berlioz) as fairly thin, but the vitality of this score sprang alive this time under Kim's baton.
Pati has a gorgeous, expressive voice, & there's a certain sunniness that comes through in his performances, joined with a certain level of joyful innocence, that makes him dream casting for the role of an idealistic young man besotted with his first love. But it was what Edris brought to the title role that was the real revelation for me. I remembered finding her voice, strictly as a voice, more gorgeous in the John Adams Antony & Cleopatra, though she certainly sang Manon with great beauty & distinction. But she also brought to her an intelligence & an emotional complexity I haven't seen before in this role.
I've always heard the character of Manon described as "charming", which only goes so far; to me, it's like saying "emotionally trivial but attractive & she knows it" – not necessarily a winning combination, beyond a superficial acquaintance, & you do really have to go beyond the superficial in a performance that lasts close to three & a half hours. Edris captured the passing iridescence of such a character, the lightness & frivolity that convinces the smitten that life & love can always float beautifully on, & that gave a poignancy to her portrayal when it edged into darker moments. Her rendition of the famous Act 2 aria, Adieu notre petite table, was genuinely wistful & moving; I felt sincere love behind her regret that she had to wake up, alone, from their beautiful dream. And when she seduces the clerical Chevalier in Act 4, her motives are complex: yes, she's displaying her sexual power over a former lover (& a vowed celibate), but you also sense her genuine feelings for the man, & her regret that their time of idyllic youth has so quickly passed away.
Because it turns out this opera is pretty hard-headed about the economic basis of society & of marriage. Even when Manon foolishly, fatefully urges the Chevalier to the gaming tables, it's because she is aware that their life together cannot continue with the means they have (she is aware of him, but also of money; he is aware only of her). It takes a lot of cash to pay for elegant frivolity, & unless you're born wealthy, the accumulation of capital is not elegant, or frivolous, or really anything but life-draining drudgery. The final tragedy is brought about by a spurned & vindictive older man. who accuses the lovers of cheating at cards. This man had earlier rented the entire ballet to perform privately, as his way seducing Manon by impressing her with his willingness to squander money on her whims. Unfortunately that's when she's decided to go to Saint-Sulpice to seduce her former love, the Chevalier. The incident is brilliantly shown in this production: something that looks like a large gilded cage slowly descends, but we, like Manon, see no dancers; like her, we are distracted. The rich man is distraught, & eventually takes his revenge.
The attitude towards wealth is one of the many ways in which this opera contrasts with La Bohème. In Puccini's opera, the rich old men are mostly foolish dupes; it's part of the youthful magic of that opera that we don't see their ultimate social power the way we do in Manon. A golden nostalgic glow lies over Bohème, even though it also ends tragically (but the nostalgic glow softens the blow). But to me it always feels very much like a retrospective tragedy, a remembered loss rather than a raw wound caused by the set-up of society. (We tend to associate Mimi's death with her poverty, but tuberculosis was I think for the original audience linked more to la vie de bohème rather than lack of adequate nutrition &c – that other famous victim of tuberculosis, Violetta, was not only financially successful as a courtesan, she supported Alfredo during their rural interlude). Does anyone ever watch Bohème & feel that the characters are trapped in poverty for the rest of their lives? I'd be surprised. Poverty, like youthful love, is seen in a fond backward glance. These things are picturesque, once you know they're temporary.
Look at Act 2 of Manon, by contrast: first Manon, aware that her lover is about to be snatched from her (by his father's underlings), sings a warm, loving – & private – farewell to their little table, the beloved furnishings of their simple, but adored because shared, apartment: a farewell to their whole life together. (But we already know that the humble & simple things of life can't hold her for long.) Then she goes off stage & he has a solo, a dreamy aria with gently undulating music underneath, fantasizing about a lovely cottage for the two of them, somewhere off in the (presumably somehow affordable) countryside, where they can pass the rest of their lives in blissful peace & contented happiness (an aria sung with oneiric elegance by Pati). When they come together at the end of the act, they have a brief exchange, each lover knowing what the other one doesn't, or can't; she aware that their time together is ending, he dreaming implausible dreams that it will float on forever. We see them suddenly & dramatically pulled apart, as we & Manon have been expecting, but the Chevalier is blindsided; not even halfway through the opera, he is plunged into grief, a grief that will return, in a deeper way, at the end, when he loses her to death.
Contrast that with Mimi & Rodolfo in their Act 1: they each have their big solos, each describing themselves to the other; then, after telling each other who they are, they unite for a rapturous duet that signals the two lives are now linked, a duet of such never-failing voluptuous intensity that it inevitably draws tears even from those lukewarm about their opera (in other words, from me). One opera gives us the delirium of mutual love (that is, what many people like to imagine love is, or at least a past love was), while the other shows two passionately entangled people who are ultimately at cross purposes & not saying to each other what really needs to be said. I suppose it's a matter of personal choice, or history, or memory, which of those the listener finds more convincing as a picture of life.
All in all, as I said, the performance was a bit of a revelation for me, a surprise which I received gratefully. Experiencing Manon again fell into the "why not?" category for me, but I came out with new respect for the work. It was not only on stage that the Opera went all out; even the lobby was decorated suitably. The place was bedecked with beads & feathers & lots of pink lighting & a shop for bespoke corsets & other suitably frivolous decor. I do regret that they missed the chance to pay homage to Act 4 by constructing a side chapel in which, under a bare-bodied Jesus, you could make out with an ex. But if even operatic lovers can't have everything, neither can we, I guess.
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